


Blessed, Wretched Thing

by Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Crowley Misses God, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley may be a demon but he's MY angel, Falling from Heaven, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I should be writing for NaNoWriMo, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: Crowley clutched at his chest, fingertips digging into flesh as a small whimper escaped his throat. “I can’t feel Her.” He turned wide, confused eyes up to Aziraphale, pleading. “W-why can’t I feel Her?”Aziraphale was watching him with bright, damp eyes, and his hand gently cupped his face.“Did I Fall?” Crowley asked, voice small.---Demon minds are very tricky, which is excellent when it comes to plotting temptations and dastardly plots, but much less pleasant (for said demon, at least), when it comes to nightmares.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 412





	Blessed, Wretched Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom hit me as hard as Sherlock did, and that obsession lasted eight years so here we go.

Crowley loved to sleep. The old adage, ‘evil never sleeps’, had never really applied to him, though one may argue that Crowley may instead simply may not have met the definition of “evil” in any of the world’s dictionaries. 

Not that Crowley was all that interested in semantics. What he was interested in was indulging in a habit he’d picked up several thousand years ago, once he’d realized he could pass some of the tougher years with blissful unconsciousness.

What had started as an indulgence had become more of a habit that was difficult to break, and as Crowley had no interest in trying to break it, he simply allowed himself to sleep when he felt like it, usually about once a week. This time, he’d chosen to fall asleep curled up on the sofa in Aziraphale’s bookshop as the angel had poured over a new first edition of _ Hamlet _ he’d recently picked up.

Crowley had spent more and more time in the shop of late, after the apocalypse-that-wouldn’t (and never would, if he had anything to say about it, which he ventured he did based on the overall outcome). Not that he’d willingly admit it, but the events of the last several months had left him shaken. He and Aziraphale had escaped with their lives, seemingly with Heaven and Hell none the wiser. But if She decided to intervene, there would be no saving themselves a second time. There’d be nothing he could do, no clever scheme that could save them from Her wrath. It left him jumpy, eyes scanning the crowds of humans for an angelic or demonic face, flinching at the sound of dripping water and crackling flame. Aziraphale must have noticed the demon’s increased clinginess, but didn’t comment, which Crowely was infinitely grateful for. After several weeks of this, sleep, he’d decided, would be a welcome distraction. 

Unfortunately for Crowley, this particular night of sleep was turning out to be far from the relaxing reprieve he hunted for. This happened on occasion, when his mind turned against him and took what was meant to be a pleasant experience into one of terror.

Demon minds are very tricky, which is excellent when it comes to plotting temptations and dastardly plots, but much less pleasant (for said demon, at least), when it comes to nightmares. Demon nightmares are rare and unrelenting, so realistic that it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish between what is real, and what is dream, especially when it concerns a reality that occured in ones life.

You see, Corwley’s nightmares usually involved the Fall.

Sure, sometimes his brain branched out, showing him visions of Aziraphale screaming and burning amongst writhing hellfire flames or imprisoned by heaven or any number of terrible things that left him gasping to see the angel or hear his voice and know that he _ was alright, he’s fine, he’s alive, he’s right there _. But on this occasion, when Aziraphale was actually right there to conveniently show him that yes, he was still alive, Crowley’s brain decided to pick The Fall.

The Fall seemed to last a lifetime, and perhaps it did. Time hadn’t been constructed by humans yet, so how long Crowley plummeted through space, sinking faster and faster, terror bubbling in his chest as he screamed and screamed, was uncertain. The farther he Fell the more he sensed Her loss, his chest gaping, open, surely bleeding out every bit of grace he had until he’d be nothing but an empty vessel. He flailed and reached, but there was nothing to grab, no way to _ stop _, now that it had started, until he hit the ground with a sickening crunch of bone.

The pain was absolute and agonizing. Even thousands of years later, Crowley wouldn’t be able to find a word that articulated it. Every twitch left him crying out, so pitiful he barely recognized his own voice. He was almost sure his wings were burning.

_ Is this what dying feels like? _ He wasn’t sure if he’d said the words aloud or simply prayed them. Either way he received no answer. _ This must be how it feels when an angel dies. _

His skin felt as if it were melting, and he was sure his bones must have crunched to dust in his body. He didn’t need to breathe yet couldn’t help the gasps escaping, inhaling ash and embers that made him cough and choke as he clutched to his chest, where it burned most of all.

He was burning from the inside out, or maybe it was the outside in, and the screams flooding his ears may be someone else's or his own. There was so much heat and just so _ much _ but also _ nothing _, and how could he be filled with such pain but such emptiness at the same time? His cheeks were wet with sweat and tears and it hurt, someone help, help, please help-

“It’s alright, dear.”

A touch, gentle and warm and _ safe. _Some of the tension in his muscles eased, the unbearable pain falling into the background as warmth surrounded him. He opened his eyes slowly, focusing on the blond angel above him. “A-Aziraphale?” he croaked out.

“I’m here.”

And he was here, his angel, but it was...wrong. Behind him, Crowley could see towers of flame. He was laying back against crackling magma, which bubbled and popped and hissed. It was so dark, but even so he could see other beings, other _ angels _ , twisting and screaming and fighting one another. Aziraphale was so out of place, so _ wrong _, here. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Aziraphale shushed him, hand carding through his hair gently. “Don’t you worry about that, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

The pain was receding, but something else noticeably wasn’t. Crowley clutched at his chest, fingertips digging into flesh as a small whimper escaped his throat. “I can’t feel Her.” He turned wide, confused eyes up to Aziraphale, pleading. “W-why can’t I feel Her?”

Aziraphale cringed, but the pained expression rippled away as quickly as it had appeared. ”It will be alright, Crowley.”

He didn’t know who this Crowley was, didn’t know why the angel was insisting it was alright when clearly it wasn’t. He turned his head, but every direction he looked was the same fire, the same red, the same creatures writhing and screaming, at the sky, at him, at each other. Panic seized his chest, the emptiness more obvious than ever.

“Crowley.”

Hulking dogs with too many teeth to line their mouths pounced from being to being, snarling. He could feel the Hate. Could feel the Sin. It was as if everything, all of creation, was ending in front of his eyes.

“Crowley.”

He could see it, rising in front of his eyes like an oncoming storm. The end of everything, and facing the end of everything with _ nothing _ , with this emptiness in his chest, in his _ being _ . He’d never felt more alone, more abandoned, as if something essential had been cut and scraped and clawed from inside him and filled with choking ash. He couldn’t breathe. She’d left him, left him here in this place, _ put _him here to rot and burn and-

“Raphael.”

His gaze snapped back to Aziraphale, who was watching him with bright, damp eyes. His hand gently cupped his face. 

“Did I Fall?” Crowley asked, voice small.

The hand against his cheek spasmed. He felt another spike of panic as the fire along his back re-emerged. He hadn’t meant to Fall, he’d never have chosen the company of those angels if it meant Falling from Her grace, would have kept his questions to himself if he’d know She would toss him aside. Had what he done really been bad enough to be cast out for it? The hole in his chest opened, threatened to drown him completely. What would he do without Her? Was this how it would always be, constant pain and torment, surrounded by fire and magma and hate? He gripped at the lapels of Aziraphale’s coat, desperate. “She’s left me?” he asked. “Why? Why? Was it that bad, what I did? I didn’t mean to -- I didn’t _ want _to. How could She not know that?” A pitiful choked sob rose from him, and why shouldn’t he let it? God loved everyone and everything. For Her to cast him aside like this, to take Her love away from him, it meant he was nothing. He had no one, no worth. If She had stopped loving him, there was nothing for him in this existence. He couldn’t bear it, would rather die, would rather be snuffed from existence than to know She didn’t love him anymore. “No. Please.” He didn’t know who he was pleading to. Aziraphale? God? Anyone who could stop this, set it right, he’d be better, he could be better if She just took him back.

At some point he must have begun speaking out loud, because suddenly Aziraphale had pulled him to his chest in a crushing embrace. “I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft and kind, and so beautifully tragic. “She still loves you. She loves everyone. It’s going to be okay.”

He shook his head but clung on all the same. Had his wings been torn from his back? Could he leave this place? Could Aziraphale leave this place, he wondered with a sudden fresh strike of panic. “Did you Fall?”

Aziraphale rubbed the space between his shoulder blades, warmth blooming along them. “No, I didn’t.”

The roaring in his ears grew, and he was glad, so glad Aziraphale hadn’t Fallen, but the terror had grown. That meant Aziraphale would leave him, would go back to Heaven to continue his good deeds, leaving him here to burn alone for an eternity or longer. The two impulses brawled for control in his head, one to push the angel away, for him to get away from this place, the other to clutch onto him so tightly that he’d never be able to go, wouldn’t leave him.

He didn’t want to be alone. He hated being alone. When Aziraphale left he would be so, so very Alone, without him, without Her, without anyone or anything. “Please.” _ Please, don’t leave me. Don’t stay here. Be safe. Help me, help me, I need you, Azirapahle, please. _

Aziraphale’s hands were shaking. He released him, Crowley scrambling after, panicked pleas dying on his lips as Aziraphale knelt before him and held onto his arms. “Listen to me, my dear. This is just a dream, a nightmare.” His lips quirked up in a thin smile. “This happened so very long ago. You have a lovely life, you’re very happy and so, _ so _ loved.” He squeezed lightly. “Now how about you wake up, and join me in my bookshop for a nice drink?”

A dream? A dream from long ago? So this had actually happened, was still actually happening. This really was his reality, being here, Hell. If it had happened such a long time ago that meant he never fixed it, never made it right, never got Her back. This terrible emptiness would never go away, he’d feel it for the rest of time and beyond even that, would live every single moment knowing that he was unworthy of Her. 

“You need to calm down,” Aziraphale said. “Listen to me.” He squeezed harder. 

The ground shook beneath them, cracks shifting and spreading along the magma and rock as something moved beneath them. An unspeakable terror struck Crowley, somewhere deep within him. The purest evil was here with him, here with Aziraphale. He tried to push the angel away. “Run,” he implored. “Go, you have to go. He’ll -- angel please.”

“Crowley.”

“Please go, please.” Angels weren’t meant to be here. What would be done to him, if he was discovered showing kindness to one of the Fallen? “It’s him, you have to.”

“No.” Aziraphale’s grip tightened further. “I will not leave you here to go through his on your own. Crowley, my dear please, this is a dream, if you would just wake-”

“He’s coming,” he whispered, eyes fixed, transfixed, as the ground continued to shift. The screams had grown, a cacophony of screeches of joy and anguish. His skin was searing, as if it had burned to a crisp as he sat there. He tried to ignore it, to force it back, force it out, but couldn’t take his eyes from the horrors around him; flesh bubbling across demons’ skin, whip cracks and laughter and fire so bright and hot that the color threatened to blind him. He cried out for Her, for Her help, for Aziraphale’s safety, but She didn’t reply and the ache in his chest just grew and grew, until it was filling every cavity in his body, spilling over his ears, lips, and eyes, spreading and infecting everything around it, everything it touched.

“Raphael.” Aziraphale lurched forwards, pressing their foreheads together and giving him a little shake. “Listen to me,” he said. “This is just a test.”

He blinked at him, something akin to hope reigniting in his chest. “A...a test?”

“Yes, dear, a test.” The angel smiled at him. “God knows you have had your doubts, and She is testing you now. But I’m here to help you.” He gave a small nod. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, of course,” he whispered. It was Aziraphale, of course he could trust him. The only one he could trust.

“Good, because you have to trust me and let me help you. You know She wouldn’t leave you to a test this important without any guidance.”

He nodded slowly. “But if I fail-”

“You won’t fail, Raphael, you must have faith.” The smile stretched. “I know you can pass this test though, and it will prove your loyalty, do you understand? When this is all done, everything is going to be alright.”

“Just a test,” he echoed.

“Yes, just a test.” Another quick squeeze, then Aziraphale sat back. “You can do this. I believe in you.”

Still, the ground shook, and the screams, and that hollowness where She was meant to be. All of this would be his reality if he failed.

“Raphael.” Aziraphale reached for him, gently turning his face until their eyes met. He smiled again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t look at any of that, just look at me, okay?” His thumb stroked along Crowley’s jawline. “You are so very loved, and I know you can do this.”

“What do I do?” His eyes were so beautiful, so compassionate that he found himself unable to look away. His eyes had always been so achingly beautiful. Crowley could spend several eternities lost in those eyes.

“You just have to wake up.”

“Wake-?”

“It may not make sense right now, but it will,” Aziraphale promised. “Come here, lie against me and close your eyes. Everything will make much more sense in just a few moments, I can assure you. Just trust me, and have faith.”

Every instinct inside him shrieked not to do it, to keep his eyes open and face the horror, that closing his eyes against it would make it so very much worse. But those eyes were so blue, so beautiful, and how could he ever turn down Aziraphale?

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

He allowed himself to be pulled against Aziraphale’s chest and hesitated just a moment. “It’s alright,” the angel said from above him. “I’ve got you.”

With a shudder, he allowed his eyes to slip closed. _ Have faith _ , he reminded himself as the screams grew deafening in his ears and vibrated down his throat. _ He wouldn’t lie to you _ . He was sure if he opened his eyes he’d see his skin really had caught fire, that it was spreading along his skin as if it were made of paper. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. _ Wake up, _ he’d said, _ wake up _.

Crowley shot up with a gasp, nearly stumbling off the couch as he turned wildly, primed for an unseen danger that hadn’t manifested yet.

But there was nothing there. He was in the bookshop, on the couch in Aziraphale’s back room, the angel leaned against the sofa with his eyes closed, a hand on Crowley’s thigh. He’d not even had a moment to recover or figure out what in Someone’s name had just happened before the angel’s eyes were fluttering open and fixing on him. “There you are,” he said warmly.

Crowley opened his mouth and tried to speak, but didn’t actually know what to say. He tried again, finally managing, “were you just in my dream?”

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “I’m so very sorry, dear, but you seemed to be having such a frightful nightmare, and I couldn’t bear it.”

Crowley ran a shaky hand through his hair. He wished he had his glasses, something to stop the angel from seeing how his eyes skittered away. “Didn’t realize you could do that with a demon.”

“Well, I’ve never tried before,” Aziraphale confessed, “but it did seem to work out alright.”

Crowley attempted a nonchalant chuckle, but the sound that came out more more akin to a croak. His skin was tingling, remnants from the nightmare, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. “I think you promised me a drink.”

Aziraphale, and Good Lord, that smile, it was what would be the death of him, in the end. The hand still on his thigh squeezed. “I did, didn’t I?”

Crowley nodded, skin burning under Aziraphale’s touch for an entirely different reason. And to his complete mortification, as Aziraphale stood to (presumably) retrieve said beverages, Crowley found his hand reaching for him and wrapping around the angel’s wrist. Aziraphale paused, and smiled. “It can wait a moment though, I think.”

Crowley looked away. _ Let go _ he told his fingers sternly, but they were less quick to respond than his plants were to his ire. _ I said let go _.

They didn’t, were still shaking, in fact. Aziraphale reached for his hand, twisting his wrist until he was holding Crowley’s hand in his own, and squeezed. “How about I sit down?” Crowley nodded dumbly as the angel did just that, not letting go of his hand. “I did tell you it would be alright if you trusted me.”

“Why did you do that?” Crowley asked. Not that he wasn’t grateful -- the less he had to relive the Fall, the happier he was, but entering dreams was a minor miracle, and surely it would get Heaven’s attention.

Aziraphal seemed genuinely puzzled, cocking his head to the side. “I couldn’t just leave you to suffer when I could do something about it,” he said. “Besides, I know that the nightmares of a demon are more long-lasting than a human’s nightmares. You could have been trapped in there for days, maybe even weeks!”

Crowley shuddered. He’d done just that several centuries ago. He’d woken shaky and exhausted, too weak to drag himself from bed for another full day. “Thanks,” he said finally.

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Of course, my dear, of course.” He’d not released Crowley’s hand, in fact, he squeezed it tighter. “It seemed truly awful.” 

Crowley tensed. He really, really did not want to talk about this. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale turned to him, eyes serious. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Crowley tried to jerk away, in surprise as much as anything else, heart hammering against his chest. He waited, but nothing happened, and he turned his eyes back to Aziraphale. “Be careful with what you say.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, jaw setting in that stubborn way that meant Crowley was about to lose an argument. “No.”

Crowley blinked at him. “No?”

Aziraphale drew himself up taller, still holding Crowley’s hand between his own. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Baffled, Crowley just watched him, unsure what to say but still so..._ terrified _ . He never felt quite right after these nightmares, and now Aziraphale was here, speaking words that could get him in trouble with Her, and _ that _ scared him more than anything. “You shouldn’t-”

“There are a number of things that shouldn’t,” Aziraphale interrupted. “You shouldn’t have had to suffer as you did-”

“Aziraphale-”

“We shouldn’t have started the Arrangement,” he continued, without pause. “We shouldn’t have stopped the apocalypse.” A beat. “I shouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

Crowley was suddenly glad he didn’t have to breathe, as he was fairly certain he’d forgotten how to.

Aziraphale, beautiful, kind, _ good _Aziraphale, smiled at him with such openness, with such love, that Crowley felt like he could cry. “I love you,” he said, voice soft. “I have loved you for a number of years, in fact, though I tried my very best not to.”

“You,” Crowley stuttered. “What?”

“And I know you’ve loved me for a very long time.” Aziraphale’s thumb stroked along the top of Crowley’s hand, eyes not leaving his. “For how long, now? I know I’ve been so terribly slow to catch up to you.”

“I...since Eden,” Crowley blurted out.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphel looked at him with such sad, loving eyes and scooted closer. “I am so very sorry.” And before Crowley could say anything, before he could protest, or squirm away or find a reason to stop it, Aziraphale kissed him, long, slow, and unrelenting.

Crowley melted against him, sinking into the kiss and reaching for him without being to stop himself. Aziraphale was so warm. He smelled of cocoa and ink and the grass after a summer storm. His touch was so gentle, his lips so soft and so much sweeter than Crowley could have ever imagined.

“I love you,” he murmured against Crowley’s lips, sending a shiver down his spine. “I’m sorry I made you wait.” He pushed closer, and suddenly Crowley was being laid gently on his back, Aziraphale’s hands stroking his face, his side, squeezing his hand as he spoke in between soft kisses. “I’ll never leave you alone to suffer again. I’m here now.”

“But,” Crowley managed, because he had to say it, as much as he wanted hits, had longed for it, he had to say it, to make sure Aziraphale understood. “I don’t want you to-”

“I’d Fall for you, my dearest,” he whispered against Crowley’s skin. “I’d Fall a thousand times over, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” He placed butterfly kisses along his cheek, his jaw. “We may have been able to hide from Heaven and Hell, but surely She has kept an eye on us all these years.” He nibbled along Crowley’s neck, the demon biting back a soft moan at the contact. “I think, if She had a problem with this, we would know by now.”

“Good point,” Crowley forced out, head spinning, reaching for the angel, his safety, his _ home _ . “But why _ now _?”

The angel paused, just for a moment, considering his words carefully. “While I was in your nightmare, I could feel...well it’s rather hard to not connect with your emotions. I felt your fear, and your doubt.” He smiled, a small, adoring smile. “And I felt how much that changed, once you saw me there. I felt your pain retreat, the terror lighten. I could sense your love, and just how _ much _ of it you carry with you for me.” Aziraphale kissed him again, soft. “You have suffered much, my love, and I couldn’t bear to let you suffer anymore due simply to my own cowardice.”

Crowley could _ feel _ the love coming from those words, from his soul. He could hardly believe it was being directed at him. “Oh.”

“I’m going to make love to you now,” Aziraphale said, voice soft. “I’m going to make sure you understand just how very loved you are, and I will never let you suffer again, as long as it is within my power to do so.”

* * *

Crowley’s nightmares abated soon after, whether it was because Aziraphale saw to it or not. 

And maybe, if She had let him have Aziraphale, hadn’t cast him out the way She had so very long ago to him, then maybe She did still love him, after all.


End file.
